Showing posts with label toronto cats. Show all posts
Showing posts with label toronto cats. Show all posts

Sunday, January 29, 2023

Sunday's Sport Stats: Bending the Rules by Brigham Vaughn



Summary:

Rules of the Game #2
Rule #1: Never give up on love.

Hockey is Noah Boucher's life. He even walked away from a chance at a relationship for a career as a star goaltender. But when an injury sidelines him and he crosses paths with the man he left behind, everything changes.

Noah is determined to have it all: a return to the ice, one final season to lead the Toronto Fisher Cats to the Cup—and a future with Simon Lawrence.

Simon is stunned to see Noah again, and all of his old feelings come rushing back, along with off-the charts chemistry. But Simon has been burned by relationships in the past, and his own career as a photographer and gallery owner is at a turning point. Trusting Noah to put him first—even while struggling to reconnect with his team and dealing with media scrutiny—is a tall order.

When catastrophe strikes just as the playoffs are heating up, Noah will have to make a choice: risk the man he loves or bend the rules to prove this time, Simon comes first.



PROLOGUE 
TWELVE YEARS AGO 
Sweaty from hauling his belongings up to his dorm room, Noah Boucher picked up his caddy and grabbed a towel. He was halfway to the communal showers when he spotted a dark-haired woman standing in the doorway to one of the rooms, speaking to someone inside. 

“Be safe, sweetie!” she said cheerfully. “I tucked condoms into your bag. I know there are a lot of cute boys here in Toronto, but I expect you to make good choices.” 

A pained male groan came from inside the room and Noah slowed to a stop, intrigued. Another bi or gay guy on his floor? Interesting. 

“Mom, stop it. You’re being embarrassing. Please go.” 

She laughed and leaned forward. “Bye. Love you, Simon.” 

“Love you too, Mom.” The guy, Simon, sounded both exasperated and fond.

After she left, Noah hung back for a moment before he continued down the hall. Simon still stood in the door as Noah passed and he let out another pained little sound. “You heard all of that, didn’t you?” 

Noah nodded, trying to suppress his smile. 

“God, can I just die now?” Simon’s pale cheeks flushed a bright red, and he brushed his black hair off his forehead with a bashful duck of his chin. He peered at Noah through his thick lashes as he wet his lips. “That was seriously embarrassing.” 

“Hey, no, it’s cool,” Noah said with a grin, trying to reassure him. “Well, not cool, but all moms are like that, I swear. You just missed mine being super awkward earlier. And my dad’s Quebecois, so he was embarrassing in two languages. Only it was my parents telling me that there were lots of cute girls and guys, so I need to be careful with both.” 

Simon laughed, the tension in his shoulders easing as he tilted his head and studied Noah. “You’re bi?” 

“Yep. Bilingual and bisexual.” 

Simon laughed again, even louder this time. “And you’re out about it?” 

“Sure. I told the team last year when I joined. Couldn’t have fooled the other French-Canadian players if I tried though. They knew I was bilingual right away.” Noah winked. 

Simon shook his head, his cheeks still a little pink, his expression amused. “I meant—”

“I know what you meant,” Noah said teasingly. “I was just playing. Yeah, I’m out to everyone on the team.” 

“The … team?” 

“Uh, hockey. I play for the university.” 

“Cool. You had any issues with it? Being out, I mean.” 

Noah shrugged. “There are always a few assholes, eh? But for the most part, it’s not too bad.” 

Simon looked him up and down. “What position do you play?” 

“Goaltender.” 

“You any good?” 

Noah grinned. “I’m not bad.” 

He was more than ‘not bad.’ He’d been drafted by the new expansion team here in Toronto—the Fisher Cats—bringing a second team to the center of the hockey world—but his parents wanted him to finish his degree first. It was smarter, he knew that, but God he wanted to play now. 

Three more years, he promised himself.

Truthfully, he was surprised Simon hadn’t heard of him, but his accent sounded more American than Canadian, so maybe that was it. It had been big news here—the new team starting and immediately going for the local star. 

Noah had been born and raised in a small town in Quebec, but once it became clear how talented he was, his parents had moved the entire family to the outskirts of Toronto so he could join a highly regarded AAA travel team. He’d spent most of his youth living in and playing for Toronto, so the idea of the local NHL team being enthusiastic to sign him had been a dream come true. 

Playing for the university had pushed his skills to another level and given him some great experience in high intensity games that he hoped would serve him well when he joined the active Fishers roster. 

But right now, he was very, very glad he’d gone to college since it meant there were cute gay boys living just down the hall from him. 

Simon gave him a small smile. “Maybe I’ll have to go to a game sometime and see just how good you are.” 

“I’d like that.” Noah leaned against the wall, studying Simon. He was dressed in jeans and a nondescript hoodie so it was impossible to tell what he was into. He could have been a musician, a jock, or pre-med, or any combination of those things, plus a million others. Whatever he was, he was damn pretty. “So, what do you do?” 

“Do?” Simon tilted his head with an inquisitive look.

“Like … what are you into? Sports? Hobbies? What’s your major?” 

“I’m a photographer. I’m taking business classes too, but photography is what I really love.” 

“Oh cool. I’d love to see some of your work sometime.” 

“Yeah, that would be great. I’d love to show you.” Simon’s gaze flicked up and down Noah’s body before a frown creased his forehead. “I’m sorry, you were probably on your way to take a shower, weren’t you? I should let you get to that.” 

“Uhh, yeah,” Noah admitted. “Guess I should. I’m enjoying talking to you though.” 

“We could grab dinner together later or something,” Simon offered, licking his lips. 

Heat stirred low in Noah’s stomach. Simon had these high cheekbones and pretty dark eyes, and he was tall—nearly as tall as Noah was—and rangy. He was probably half his width. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him. Gorgeous. The more Noah looked at him, the more he liked him. 

Noah grinned and nodded. “Yeah, I’d like that. Meet you back here at six?” 

“Six it is.” 

“Awesome, see you then.” Noah gave Simon another grin, then mentally facepalmed. He’d never introduced himself. “I’m Noah Boucher by the way.” 

Simon laughed, his cheeks flushing again, his palm warm and a little damp when their hands pressed together. “Simon Lawrence.”

“Very nice to meet you, Simon Lawrence,” Noah said with a slow grin and a wink before he headed for the showers, whistling under his breath. At worst, it looked like he might have made a friend. At best … well, they’d just have to wait and see. 

But when Noah arrived at Simon’s door a few minutes before six, Simon’s roommate was there too. Brad followed them to the cafeteria, clearly unaware that this was supposed to have been a date. As Noah swiped his key card and a couple of guys from the team waved at him and walked over, he stifled a groan and glanced at Simon, expecting him to have an equally annoyed expression on his face. But he was deep in conversation with his roommate. A flicker of doubt went through Noah. 

Did Simon not intend this to be a date? 

Despite Noah’s annoyance and confusion, dinner that night was entertaining. Some people from their floor joined them along with a few of Noah’s teammates and it was a loud, fun group. He tried to get to know Simon better when he could, and he figured there would be another chance to ask him on a date—for real—in the future. 

But dinners with friends became a regular thing, and no matter how many times Noah tried to get Simon alone by inviting him to the movies or out for a drink, it never seemed to happen. There was always someone tagging along. Noah was glad they’d made friends with new people but Jesus, it was impossible to actually get some alone time with Simon. And within a few weeks, Simon started dating a guy from one of his classes and Noah had missed his opportunity. Admitting defeat, Noah finally said yes to the girl on the floor downstairs who had invited him to a couple of parties.

Though they became close friends, Noah continued to wonder what it would be like to kiss Simon. Touch him. Make him his. 

Noah had missed his opportunity. 


TWO YEARS LATER 
“That was fun. I needed that,” Simon said as he and Noah left Randall’s Pizzeria where they’d been hanging out with their friends. 

“Me too. I’ve been studying like crazy.” 

Simon snuck a glance at Noah. Noah’s cheeks were pink, and his blue eyes were bright. Simon had enjoyed a couple of drinks, but Noah had only had one. They had finals tomorrow, so they’d cut out early from the celebration with the excuse they needed to get some sleep. Though Simon had also wondered if Noah was hoping to spend some time alone with him. He hoped so. 

“Sometimes it’s nice to just get away from the hockey team,” Noah continued with a sigh. 

Simon snorted. “They’re entertaining.” 

“Sure. You only say that because I was the one they were giving shit to about being single.” 

“Like I said, entertaining.”

“Hey. Rude.” Noah playfully bumped his shoulder. “Sorry your boyfriend couldn’t make it.” 

Noah didn’t sound very sorry. And the truth was, Simon wasn’t either. They wouldn’t be walking back to the dorms like this together if Dave had come to the bar with them. And Simon really, really liked spending time with Noah. Probably more than he should. 

Simon shrugged. “We’re … I don’t know. Not sure we’re going to last much longer.” He bit his lip and shot Noah a sidelong glance. 

“Why’s that?” 

Noah looked oddly happy at that news, which made Simon’s stomach flutter. 

In the two years they’d been friends, Simon had always wondered if something would happen with Noah. The chemistry was there, but the timing had never worked out. If one of them was single, the other wasn’t. But Simon had dreamed about what it would be like to run his fingers through Noah’s red-gold hair and kiss his full lips. He’d spent so many mornings in the shower thinking about what Noah’s body would look like under his clothes. Wondering how he’d smell. How he’d taste. 

Sometimes he even imagined being with Noah when he was in bed with Dave, though he’d never admit that aloud. 

“I don’t know,” Simon admitted. “Dave seems like he’s kinda restless. He keeps talking about seeing other people. Not like, breaking up, but at the same time.” He shrugged. 

“That’s not your thing?”

“No.” Simon chewed at his lip. “Is that weird?” 

“No. I mean, whatever makes people happy, I guess, but I don’t think I’d want that either.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. I mean, for one, between hockey and school, I don’t have that much time. It’s cool if it’s casual or whatever, but trying to seriously date multiple people at a time sounds exhausting, eh?” 

“Sure.” 

“Besides.” Noah bumped Simon’s shoulder again, this time more softly. “If I’m serious about someone, I like being focused on just them. The one person I’m really, really into is all I’d need.” 

“Is there someone?” 

“Someone I’m really, really into?” 

“Yeah.” Simon held his breath. “Yeah, there is,” Noah said, his voice a little raspy. “Um, there’s this guy who lives on my floor in the dorms. He’s gorgeous and so smart and really talented. I’ve had a crush on him for a couple of years.” 

“He sounds amazing. If things don’t work out, you’ll have to introduce me to him,” Simon teased, desperately hoping he was the one Noah was talking about. 

Noah stopped dead in his tracks and gently grabbed Simon’s arm. “It’s you, Simon.”

“I know.” Simon let out an awkward little laugh. “I mean, I hoped that’s what you meant. Because I”—he licked his lips—“I feel it too. I just don’t know what to do about it.” 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Noah stepped closer. 

The air was so cold Simon could see the white steam flow from Noah’s lips and mingle with the puffs of air he let out. 

“What?” 

“You and me.” Noah slid his hand along the back of Simon’s parka, pulling him closer. “We’ve been dancing around this for two years, Simon. We’re not fooling anyone.” 

Simon’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?” 

“Haven’t you heard people talking? My friends are always harassing me about when I’m going to ask you out.” 

“What do you tell them?” 

“When the time is right.” He pressed his forehead to Simon’s. 

“I have a boyfriend.” But Simon slid his hands, covered with mittens, up the front of Noah’s parka, grabbing his lapels. “The time isn’t right.” 

“I know,” Noah admitted. “That's why I’m not kissing you right now.”

“You want to?” 

“Oh fuck, Simon, I’m dying to.” The rasp of Noah’s voice sent a shiver through Simon’s body. “I want to lick my way between your lips and kiss you until you know you’re mine.” 

Heat crawled across Simon’s skin at those words, his entire body trembling with need. 

“I feel like a horrible person saying this, but … break up with him, Simon,” Noah said. 

Simon sighed, pulling back to look Noah in the eye. “I don’t wanna be a jerk to Dave. He’s not a bad guy.” 

“I know. Doesn’t mean he’s right for you though,” Noah argued. “Look, I don’t want to pressure you. If you’re happy with Dave, I’ll back off. But it doesn’t sound like you are. And if you’re not, why are you with him? Whatever happens between us, don’t waste your time being miserable, Simon. And don’t do what Dave wants if it isn’t what makes you happy.” 

“Okay.” Simon wet his lips, heart beating fast. “Yeah, um, I’ll talk to Dave.” 

“Good.” 

They walked back to the dorm in silence. When they reached Simon’s room, Noah kept walking, heading to his own door. But the look he gave Simon was filled with so much heat that Simon promised himself he’d talk to Dave soon.

******

The following morning, Noah skidded into Simon’s dorm room, socks sliding on the slippery floors. “Holy shit, Simon, you’re never going to believe this!” 

“Believe what?” Simon rose to his feet. 

Noah’s heart thundered as he tried to wrap his brain around the news he’d just gotten. “I got a call. They … I’m playing an NHL game tonight.” 

“What?” 

“The Fisher Cats need me. You know I’ve been signed with them for a while and had planned to report to the team after I was done playing for the university.” Simon nodded. “In the meantime, I was on their roster as an emergency backup goaltender, but I never thought it would actually happen. Just got a call from my agent though.” 

“What did he say?” 

“You know how Townsend has been out with a lower body injury this past week?” Townsend was the Fishers’ starting goalie. 

“Yeah.”

“Well, Koskinen—their backup—is out now too. Concussion during practice this morning. Some weird fluke thing, I guess, but he’s out for a few games.” 

“Shit.” Simon was wide-eyed. 

“So they want me.” That was the part Noah was having trouble wrapping his brain around. 

A frown furrowed Simon’s brow. “Wouldn’t they just bring up a guy from the AHL team?” 

“Cap space problem. They can’t afford it.” 

“Wow. So, this means …” 

“I—I’m leaving in like twenty minutes to play pro hockey. I just had to tell you first.” 

“Wow,” Simon said softly. “That’s amazing, Noah.” 

Noah stepped closer. “It’s crazy. I’m so excited.” He couldn’t stop the grin that stretched across his face. Simon was the first person he’d told. The only one—other than his family—who he wanted to share that news with. 

“You should be! This is a dream come true for you.” 

“Watch the game tonight?” Noah reached out and grabbed the front of Simon’s hoodie, pulling him a little closer. “If I know you’re watching, I’ll play better.”

“I always watch your games,” Simon said with a small smile. “I just wish I could see this one in person.” 

“Maybe someday.” Noah grinned. “When I’m on the ice wearing a Toronto Fisher Cats jersey for real.” 

“It won’t be long. I know it.” 

Simon’s faith in him warmed Noah clear down to his toes. “Wish me luck tonight?” 

“Good luck,” Simon said, his eyes filled with pride. “But you don’t need it. You’re going to be amazing either way. I know you are.” 

“Thank you.” Noah hugged him, the excited tension in him unwinding a little at the feel of Simon in his arms. He stepped back, smiling as he wrapped his hand around the back of Simon’s neck. “And when I get back, I’m taking you on a date, Simon Lawrence.” 

“You promise?” 

Noah grinned, even more widely this time. It was like he couldn’t stop. “I promise.” Impulsively, he leaned forward and kissed Simon’s forehead. 

“Guess I better have that talk with Dave then,” Simon said quietly when Noah drew back. 

Hope lit him up inside, making an already great day even better. “Guess you better.”

******

Simon’s pulse raced and his short nails dug half-moons into his palms when he clenched his fists. “C’mon, Noah,” he chanted under his breath, watching with his heart in his throat while Detroit’s forward sped toward the goal. “You’ve got this.” 

He almost couldn’t watch while Noah smoothly slid into the splits, reaching with his blocker and batting the puck back onto the ice, right in front of one of the Fishers’ players who snagged it and raced toward Detroit’s goal. 

“Yesss,” Simon hissed, relief making him fall limply back onto the beanbag with a sigh. “Fuck yes, Noah.” 

By the time the game was over, and Toronto had pulled off a 3-2 win, Simon was as exhausted and sweaty as if he’d been the one playing the game. Well, maybe not as sweaty. The camera had panned across a drenched but triumphant Noah Boucher a few minutes ago, his red hair soaked with sweat and the water he’d dumped over his head. Simon’s heart raced at the sight of him. Already, he looked different. Older, more mature. Was that really the guy he’d seen this morning who’d promised to take him on a date? The one who’d kissed his forehead and looked at him with such tenderness and affection that Simon could still feel the warmth of it in his chest? 

A flicker of worry worked through Simon. Noah had played his first NHL game—and blown everyone away—but Simon knew it wouldn’t be his last. He was too good. No one had expected a college-level emergency backup goaltender to accomplish much but Noah had killed it tonight. What did that mean for their future? 

“Simon?” 

He glanced up to see his boyfriend Dave staring at him, holding out a hand. He let Dave pull him to his feet, mentally rehearsing how he was going to break up with him. Shit, he felt like an asshole. But this thing with Noah, it was too big to ignore, and even if Noah wasn’t in the picture, it was clear Dave wasn’t the guy for him. 

“You want to head back to your room or mine?” Dave asked, sliding a hand around Simon’s waist and pressing close, nuzzling against his neck. They’d been watching the game with a few guys on the floor. 

Simon tried not to flinch at the touch. “Uhh, mine is okay. Brad’s out tonight.” 

But when Simon shut the door behind them and Dave leaned in for a kiss, Simon placed his hand in the center of Dave’s chest. “Look, we should talk.” 

Dave sighed and stepped back. “Let me guess, you’re breaking up with me?” 

“Yeah.” Simon grimaced. “To be honest, it’s felt like neither of us are super into this.” 

“I like you, Simon.”

“I like you too, but …” But there was no spark. There was no racing heart like he had every time he looked at Noah. He liked spending time with Dave, and they had fun, but even the hottest sex with Dave paled in comparison to just spending time with Noah. 

“But you’re in love with Boucher.” Dave jammed his hands in his pockets. 

“What?” Simon blinked. 

“Oh, come on, you’re not fooling anyone. I get it. He’s hot. I’d do him too. Just don’t expect him to stick around for long.” Dave let out a little snort. “You saw the game. He’s got a pro hockey career in his future. He’s not going to wait around for you.” 

******

“Simon?” Noah peered through the open door of Simon’s room, still flying high from the game the night before. He’d snatched a few hours of sleep but the buzz inside him hadn’t fully faded. 

“Noah. You’re back!” Simon rose to his feet. “I watched your game. It was amazing.” 

Noah rubbed the back of his neck. “Thanks.” 

He still didn’t know how he’d pulled it off. Toronto had won. A lot of it was due to the rest of the team, of course. They had a strong offense this year and their D-men had kept the puck away from Noah’s goal for most of the game. But he’d had some incredible saves too, and there had been real, genuine appreciation on the guys’ faces after the game when they’d congratulated him. No one had expected much of an emergency backup goaltender but Noah had proved them wrong. 

The press was going nuts with the story and Noah had gotten a crash course in pro-level media relations. 

Sitting there in the Toronto Fishers’ dressing room, Noah had felt like one of the team. And the call he’d gotten from his agent a few minutes ago … 

Simon stepped forward. “I broke up with Dave.” 

“I …” Noah swallowed hard. “I’m not going to be able to take you on that date, Simon.” 

Simon’s expression fell. “Why’s that?” 

“They want to sign me. They’re desperate for goaltenders and I did so well last night. Last night I signed a one-day amateur try-out contract but they … they’ve offered me an actual entry-level contract. My parents and I are meeting with my agent and some reps from the Fishers this afternoon so we can hammer out some final details, but … it’s pretty much a done deal.” 

“Wow. You’ll be playing for the Fishers for real then?” 

“Yeah, I’m heading straight up to them. No stop in the AHL. It’s crazy. Shit like this pretty much never happens but …” Noah couldn’t say it out loud, but they’d told him he was one of the best prospects they’d seen in years. He’d killed it on the ice for the university this season and after his performance in his first pro game last night, no one could deny he was ready.

His parents were a little wary—they wanted him to finish college—but even they couldn’t deny that this step made sense. How could he turn down a shot like this? It was like the fates had aligned just right. In the history of the NHL, only a few EBUGs had ever gotten ice time. Usually, they just dressed for the game and warmed the bench. Even then the team usually knew there was a high chance of losing but it had been like magic last night. Time had seemed to slow down, and Noah was there, ready to block the shots fired his way that had snuck by Toronto’s defense. 

All the pieces had lined up just right to give Noah this opportunity to go after his dream. But damn, leaving school was going to be hard, and leaving Simon even harder. 

“Well, I’m happy for you.” Simon’s tone was firm like he was trying to mean it, but his expression turned sad. “I guess it’s still not the right time for us, huh?” His sigh was heartfelt, and an answering twinge went through Noah. 

“I guess not.” Noah reached out and took Simon’s hand, then pressed his lips to his forehead, letting the kiss linger. “Maybe someday.” 

“Yeah, maybe.” The ache in Simon’s voice was unmistakable. 

“A part of me wants to turn the offer down,” Noah blurted out as he stepped back. He didn’t let go of Simon’s hand. “To stay here. To be with you.” 

Simon opened his mouth, but Noah shook his head. “No, let me get this out, please. But I know I can’t. This offer is life changing. So few guys get this opportunity, and I need to chase my dream.”

“I know that,” Simon said thickly. “I really do. You deserve this, Noah. You’re an incredible goalie. I’d never want to get in the way of that.” 

“I’m excited about my future, but … I don’t want to lose you,” Noah whispered. 

“I don’t want to lose you either.” 

Noah squeezed his upper arm. “I wish I could ask you to wait for me.” 

Simon nodded. 

“Or that we could try to make it work anyway. But the truth is, a pro career is hard. You want to go to New York someday and open a gallery. I’m going to be traveling with Toronto but God knows how many times I’ll get traded in my career. I want to ask you to wait for me, but it wouldn’t be fair. I want you, but I don’t want to start something I know won’t last. I don’t want to promise you things I’m not sure I can follow through on.” Noah dragged the side of his thumb down Simon’s cheek, more conflicted than he’d ever been in his life. He was being offered everything he’d ever wanted—a pro hockey career—but he had to lose Simon to get it. “Because if I had you, I’d never want to let you go.” 

Simon smiled, but his eyes remained sad. “I understand, Noah.” 

Noah let out a shaky sigh. “It seems impossible that I can miss you this much already. We never even ...” 

“I know.” Simon stepped close again and Noah wrapped his arms tightly around him, aching with loss already.

He and Simon had never dated. Never so much as kissed. But that glimmer of the future they could have had burned in his chest. “I’m excited about my future, Simon,” Noah murmured. “I just wish you could be in it.” 

“I know. Me too.” Simon hugged him tight, then pressed a kiss to Noah’s cheek. “Good luck, Noah. I know you’re going to be amazing.” 

Noah gave him a tremulous smile, then turned and walked away to pack, wondering why it felt like he was leaving his future behind.



Sunday Sport Stats
Rules of the Game
Engagement

Relationship Goals


Author Bio:
Brigham Vaughn is on the adventure of a lifetime as a full-time writer. She devours books at an alarming rate and hasn’t let her short arms and long torso stop her from doing yoga.  She makes a killer key lime pie, hates green peppers, and loves wine tasting tours. A collector of vintage Nancy Drew books and green glassware, she enjoys poking around in antique shops and refinishing thrift store furniture. An avid photographer, she dreams of traveling the world and she can’t wait to discover everything else life has to offer her.

Her books range from short stories to novellas. They explore gay, lesbian, and polyamorous romance in contemporary settings.

To stay up to date on her latest releases, sign up for the Coles & Vaughn Newsletter.


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EMAIL: brighamvaughn@gmail.com



Bending the Rules #2



Sunday, May 1, 2022

Sunday's Sport Stats: Changing the Rules by Brigham Vaughn



Summary:

Rule #1: Don’t fall in love with the coach

Gabriel Theriault’s been skating on thin ice for the past two seasons with Toronto but his arrest following an off-ice fight is the final straw.

His only shot at redemption is to start over in Evanston and prove that he still has what it takes to be a pro player.

No more fights. No more drinking. No more random hookups.

Rule #2: The team always comes first

Years ago, Lance Tate’s on-ice injury ended his career and marriage.

His long road to recovery led to a job he loves as assistant coach with the Evanston Otters, and he wouldn’t dream of giving that up.

Until he meets Gabriel.

The French-Canadian is nineteen years younger, burdened by too much responsibility, and the most intriguing man Lance has ever met.

He’s also the absolute last man Lance should get involved with.

The draw between them is impossible to resist—even if it could cost them the game they love.

Their only chance at winning it all is to change the rules.

For trigger warnings, please use the 'look inside' feature.



PROLOGUE 
FOUR MONTHS PRIOR 
“Ostie de tabarnak de sacrament, de cΓ’lisse de ciboire de crisse de marde!” Gabriel Theriault swore and kicked a trash can, sending it skittering down the dirty alley, leaving a trail of garbage in its wake. “Fuck!” 

But it didn’t matter what language he swore in. It wasn’t going to make his father any easier to find. 

Gabriel glanced at his phone, his stomach churning. No news on Alain’s whereabouts and if Gabriel delayed any longer, he’d be late for the game. He’d received more fines from Coach Casey than he could count this season, and his reputation and future career were already in tatters. 

He jogged away from the filthy, reeking alley where he’d found his father last time and got in his car, anger bubbling up once again. 

The stress of trying to deal with his father’s condition and the chaos it led to had taken its toll on Gabriel’s hockey career. And sometimes, on days like today, his father still managed to slip away from the caregiver and wander off. 

Gabriel had checked all of Alain’s usual spots with no luck. The aide had been out searching too but she hadn’t found him either. Gabriel pulled out his phone, tempted to call 911. Should he initiate an official search for Alain? He’d be pissed if Gabriel did, but the risk of exposure or dehydration was high. It was late spring though. The weather was soft and mild, and he had only been gone an hour or so. What was the right call? 

Gabriel twisted the key in the ignition and glanced at the clock, hope sinking into despair. Now he had no choice but to give up the search or miss a playoff game. Fuck, he’d be cutting it close to make it to the arena as it was. 

And what was that smell? Ugh. He must have gotten something on the soles of his leather shoes. He just hoped it wasn’t splattered on the hems of his suit or there would be one more thing for Coach Casey to ream him out about. 

Gabriel called the caregiver. 

“I have to get to the game,” he said. “If you haven’t found him in two more hours, call the police. His photo and medical info are in the binder if the authorities need it.” 

“Yes, Mr. Theriault. I’ll do my best to find him. I called a few friends to help. I hope that was all right.” Her voice was tentative. “They’re medical professionals and will respect confidentiality, I swear.”

Gabriel swallowed back the emotion threatening to overwhelm him. “Oui. Merci. I … I thank you. I don’t know what else to do. I don’t want to play while he’s missing but I have obligations and—” 

“I understand. We’ll keep looking.” 

“Thank you,” he said roughly. “Thank you. I mean that.” 

He hung up, pressing the accelerator as hard as he dared. Despite the speed, the drive across Toronto to the Fisher Cats’ arena took forever and Gabriel skidded into the dressing room with little time to spare, earning him a glare from Coach. 

“Nice of you to join us today, Theriault. You’re on the top line tonight. Don’t make me regret it.” 

Gabriel muttered an apology, promised Coach he’d make him proud, then dressed for the game on autopilot, wrapped his sticks just the way he liked them, and dodged the team’s starting goaltender, Noah Boucher, when he looked like he might come over to talk. 

Gabriel skated onto the ice for warmups, taking his frustration out on the puck, whacking it into the net with sharp, angry slapshots. Matt Carlson, his defensive partner, gave him a raised eyebrow when he skated past. “You okay there, Theriault?” 

“Fine,” he grunted, taking a whack at another puck. It pinged off the post on Noah’s net with far more force than necessary and his roommate held up his blocker in a “what the fuck?” motion. 

“Whatever’s going on, you better get your shit together,” Matty said under his breath fifteen minutes later as they skated off the ice and tromped through the tunnel. “This isn’t just any game.”

“Merde! You think I don’t fucking know that?” Gabriel snarled, anxiety making it impossible to keep a lid on his temper. “It’s the final game against Boston in the third round of the Stanley Cup playoffs. I know what’s at stake.” 

“Do you?” Matty whirled on him. “Because your head has barely been in the games lately. Our defense has sucked and if we didn’t have Boucher saving our asses, we’d be toast!” 

“Guys!” Coach Casey barked. “Cool it. Both of you. Save the aggression for out on the ice.” 

Gabriel nodded tightly, his jaw aching as he clenched his teeth. Then again, when didn’t it ache? He woke up every morning with pain radiating through his jaw and neck and into his head. Tension, the trainer had said. 

No shit. 

“Ostie de colon,” he muttered under his breath. 

“What did you call me?” Matty asked, bristling. He might not be fluent in Quebecois profanity, but he’d spent enough time with Gabriel over the years to pick up some of it. 

“I called myself an idiot, not you.” He dropped into his stall in the dressing room and closed his eyes, the hot press of helpless fear making his lungs tight. 

Gabriel knew he was in bad shape when he’d pissed off a coach often described as the most mellow guy in the NHL and a teammate who was generally a big, loud teddy bear, but God, the terror he felt at not knowing what was going on with his father warred with his duty to his team.

Please keep him safe, he whispered in a silent prayer, pressing his hand to the ornate fleur de lis cross tattooed on his chest. Let me win this game and keep my father safe. 

Twenty minutes later Gabriel got in position for the puck drop, gripping his stick, trying to wipe all thoughts except hockey out of his head. He’d been with the Fisher Cats for years. He knew this team, knew Coach Casey’s plays, knew this ice, and knew their opponents. 

When the puck dropped, the Boston Harriers struck with swift, deadly accuracy like the hawks they were named after. They were a damn good team and there was no room for sloppiness from Gabriel tonight. He tangled with one of Boston’s wingers immediately, getting in his space, giving him no room to pass or score. 

Gabriel reveled in the chance to release the pent-up aggression inside him. The hard clack of sticks as they fought for the puck was music to his ears, as was the player’s frustrated grunt when Gabriel finally swiped the rubber away from him and threaded the needle between his teammate’s legs to pass it to his Captain, Dustin Fowler. 

Gabriel got a sharp jab of an elbow to the side in retaliation from his opponent, but he was gone, skating after Fowler. Blood sang in his veins, his body thrumming with anticipation when Boston snagged the puck back. 

Back and forth, up and down the ice, his legs burning, his stick fast, his mind sharp as he and Matty worked together to keep the puck away from Noah’s goal. However fucked Gabriel’s head was, however pissed at him Matty was, they were clicking tonight. He needed this win to prove that he wasn’t washed up. He still had what it took to belong on a winning NHL team. He needed this for himself and for the team. 

“Nice one, boys,” Coach Casey praised when they dropped onto the bench after the line change and, for a few fleeting moments, Gabriel felt a sliver of hope that he could get his head back in the game, regain a fraction of the skill he’d once had, and help his team win the damn Cup. 

But the moment he was out on the ice for the third period, it all went wrong. 

Luke Crawford delivered a shoulder check right to Fowler that knocked Fowler to the ice. Gabriel’s brain flooded with memories of the dirty hit Crawford had dealt to Noah last season. The one that had fucked up their chances for a Cup win and taken Noah out of the game for nearly ten months. The one that Gabriel should have been there to prevent. 

Rage filled him, fueled by the guilt and anger and helplessness that had been building in him since then. He went after Crawford, shoving him with his stick and headbutting him. 

Crawford grunted, taken by surprise. Gabriel dropped his stick and tore off his gloves, grappling with him, hanging on to his jersey with one hand while he slugged him with the other. Too fast for Fowler to block completely but he managed to dodge enough that it only glanced off his jaw. 

Crawford snarled, “That the best you can do? When are you going to admit you’re a washed-up has-been like your old man?”

The world went red, Gabriel letting out a bellow as he tried to shove Crawford back against the boards. 

“Crisse! J’vais t’en cΓ’lisser une tabarnaque. Tu vas t’en souvenir crissement longtemps!” 

He yelled it in English too, calling him a bastard and threatening to punch him so hard he’d remember it for years. Shouting that he wasn’t a has-been, and neither was his father. 

But linesmen were there before Gabriel could follow through, yanking them apart, his teammates helping when Gabriel lunged for Crawford again. 

“You, penalty box!” the ref barked, pointing at Crawford. He turned his attention to Gabriel. “And you, dressing room. You’re out for the rest of the game.” 

Fowler, his ever-loyal Captain, argued with the ref but he wouldn’t be swayed. With the clock winding down, the multiple penalties he’d undoubtedly earned were more than enough to knock him out for the remainder of the game. 

The ref announced his ruling. “Boston, number fifty-four, five-minute major for fighting. Toronto, number eighteen, two-minute minor for high sticking, five-minute major fighting, and ten-minute misconduct for instigating.” 

Seventeen goddamn minutes. Coach would crucify him. Just a few more seconds and Gabriel would have managed a solid hit too. God, he needed that, needed the rush of adrenaline, was desperate for the way it made his mind go clear and sharp. Needed anything but the aching worry about his father and the guilt over not doing enough to protect Noah last season. That desperation flooded over him now, returning in a rush of stomach-churning emotion when he skated past Crawford on his way to the tunnel, who only gave him an arrogant nod, baring his teeth in a snarl at Gabriel through the glass. 

They won that night, but after the post-game reaming Coach Casey gave him about his penalty allowing Boston to score on the power play and nearly costing them the game, Gabriel wasn’t in a celebratory mood. 

Before he hit the showers or did anything else, he checked his phone and found a message from the caregiver. Found Alain. He’s a little banged up but nothing too critical and he’s home resting now. 

Relief hit first, then worry about what she meant by banged up. God. They couldn’t keep doing this. He had to come up with a better solution. Something to keep his father out of harm’s way. 

Gabriel pushed his sweaty hair off his face, helpless and sick. The fight had made him feel purposeful, full of energy, but it wasn’t enough. He could do little to help his father, but he needed something. The fight hadn’t been enough to purge the roiling emotions in him. 

Maybe a fuck … 

Gabriel tore through his post-game routine and was out of the dressing room in record time, hair still dripping onto his suit collar. He stared at his phone while he walked down the hall of the arena, debating if it was a Tinder or a Grindr night. Fuck it, maybe both.

He got in the elevator, distractedly jabbing at the button for the parking garage as he scanned the threesome app searching the profiles of couples looking for a third. Maybe two people would be enough to pull him out of his head. 

Gabriel felt like a shitty son, not going to see for himself that his father was okay, but he couldn’t be the cool, calming presence his father needed right now. No, better to fuck it out of his system and go to his father’s house with a clear head tomorrow. The night caregiver would look out for Alain in the meantime. He was home and safe. Gabriel could take a few hours to not think about what a mess his life was. He deserved that at least. 

Mmm, maybe that couple … He eyed the explicit photos appreciatively as he flicked through them. Yes, they’d do. They were exceptionally attractive, and he liked what their profile had to say, their energy coming through in their words and promising him a fun time. That energy was what attracted him to a person the most. Noah had burned bright. Gabriel had never fooled himself into thinking it was love between them, but his roommate had always been a joyous distraction in bed. 

But his injury last season had ended their casual hookups, Noah turning single-minded about returning to play. And then he’d met Simon. 

Ahh well, there were plenty of other willing and eager people out there for the taking. Gabriel hadn’t fucked everyone in Toronto. 

Yet.

The elevator doors opened, and Gabriel blindly stepped forward, typing out a message to the couple. He ran smack dab into something immovable and rocked back on his heels. He glanced up to see Luke Crawford glaring at him, a wall of human blocking his path. 

“Come back for more, Theriault?” His voice was a low, menacing rumble. 

Gabriel glanced around, confused as to what Crawford was doing in the players’ parking area but he realized he’d gotten out on the visitors’ level. Boston’s charter bus idled across the lot, ready to take the team to the airport. 

“No.” He rubbed his head. “I just got off on the wrong floor.” 

“You really are a chip off the old block. When we all played up there in Calgary, everyone knew he had a screw loose. Especially there at the end.” 

And like that, the exhaustion was gone, replaced by a white-hot fury that sent searing rage through Gabriel. He threw himself at Crawford, not caring that the guy stood six inches taller, his only goal shoving his fist through the back of his skull. He nearly took Crawford down, but he righted himself, letting out a grunt of annoyance when his own shove couldn’t knock Gabriel off his feet. Gabriel braced himself and threw one punch, then another, pain shooting through his knuckles when he made contact with Crawford’s mouth. 

“You don’t talk about him that way,” Gabriel shouted, but the words were muffled by the blood pounding in his ears. Crawford got a punch in to his ribs that forced the air out of him with a gasp and he staggered back a moment before he threw himself into it again. He dimly heard the sound of yelling and feet pounding on pavement. 

“Hey! Hey! Break it up, guys!” a security guard hollered, yanking Gabriel away from Crawford. Gabriel fought him off, snarling, but several more people arrived, hauling them apart and Gabriel’s arms were pinned behind his back in a grip he couldn’t shake. The guard was easily twice his size. 

“Fuck, they’re players,” someone muttered. “Shit, what do we do?” 

“Police are on the way!” someone shouted. 

Gabriel groaned, the anger leaching out of him as reality settled over him. He was in deep, deep shit. 

“CΓ’lisse,” he whispered. 

Crawford spat on the ground, leaving a froth of red on the stained pavement. He bared his teeth and through the tinge of blood, Gabriel saw the black square of a missing tooth. 

Gabriel was screwed. 


“Hey, punkin’,” Lance Tate said cheerfully as he answered his daughter’s call. 

Hailey laughed. “Geeze, I’m twenty-seven and engaged to be married, Dad. Not sure I’m much of a punkin’ anymore.”

“You’ll always be my punkin’,” he protested. “Unless you don’t want to be.” 

“Nah, of course I do.” Her tone softened. “You know that.” 

“Just making sure.” 

Sometimes Lance wasn’t sure. Because the truth was, he’d been a terrible father. Hailey might say otherwise now, but he’d been estranged from his children for far too long. It hadn’t all been his fault. He hadn’t meant to abandon them. Wouldn’t have dreamed of doing it intentionally, but the head injury he’d had when Hailey was seven had ended his career, his marriage, and his relationship with his kids. 

He could hardly blame his ex-wife, Cammie, for protecting Hailey and Scott from his erratic behavior. But by the time Lance had recovered and been ready to be a father again, the kids hardly knew him. The job offer in Buffalo had been too good to pass up, but it had taken him farther from them. Cammie had been the one to raise them. The one who’d been there for every parent-teacher conference and scraped knee. She’d been the one who slipped money under their pillows for the tooth fairy and taught the kids to ride bikes. She’d been their sole parent for far too long. 

Scott still resented him. Lance understood why, but it stung that they weren’t close. Lance had tried. God had he tried. But though they texted periodically, and Scott always replied eventually, he was never the one to initiate sending messages. Half the time Hailey was the one who let big news about her brother slip.

Lance had found out about Scott’s college acceptance that way, and about his new job several months ago. 

The three of them, plus Hailey’s fiancΓ©, Jay, had met for dinner a few days later to celebrate but Hailey had done all of the planning and Lance had wondered if his son would have bothered otherwise. 

The painful truth was, he probably didn’t care to. 

“Dad?” Hailey’s voice pulled Lance from his thoughts, and he let out a little laugh. 

“Sorry, I was off on another planet, I guess,” he said ruefully. “What were you saying?” 

“Just asking if you were planning to bring a date to the wedding. Jay and I are trying to get a rough idea of the headcount.” 

“Oh geez.” Lance ran a hand across his short hair. “I don’t know. I’m not seeing anyone at the moment.” 

Nor was he likely to. He could hardly remember the last time he went out on a date. It was late May now. Was he likely to have a date before the wedding in December? No, probably not. Not with the Evanston Otters heading to the Cup finals. He’d have a little time off in the summer but then it would be the pre-season, followed by the regular season. As an assistant coach, he traveled with the team, so it wasn’t like he’d have the opportunity to meet someone. 

“Oh, hmm, I wonder if I can set you up with anyone,” Hailey said. “Oh! I have this great co-worker, Sue. She’s a little younger than you but not by much and she’s absolutely fantastic.”

“Ahh, thanks, kiddo, but no. I don’t need you to set me up on a date,” Lance said with an awkward laugh. 

The truth was, he’d sort of lost interest in dating women. And he’d had even less luck with men. But his family knew nothing about that side of him and he didn’t think that would change any time soon. 

“Well, let me know if you change your mind!” Hailey said brightly. 

“I will. And if I meet someone before December, I’ll let you know. But for now, no plus one for me.” 

“We’ll put you down as a maybe.” 

Lance smiled. Ever the optimist, his daughter. 

They talked for a while longer but eventually he had to let her go so she could make dinner. He needed to do the same, but he leaned his elbows on the counter and stared out the window of his apartment at the darkening skies beyond, acutely and painfully conscious of just how lonely he was. 

And then his phone buzzed with a message from Ken Daniels. 

Lance let out a rueful chuckle as he read the urgent text. He might be lonely but there was always hockey. 

Forty minutes later, he took a seat across the desk from Ken, the head coach for the Evanston River Otters. He stared blankly at him. “You want us to do what?”

“We were approached by a player for the Toronto Fisher Cats about a trade.” 

“That’s … not how this is usually done,” Lance said, baffled. 

“I’m well aware.” Ken’s tone was dry. 

“Sorry. Of course you are. This is just … bizarre.” 

“No, I hear you.” Ken huffed. “If it was anyone but Boucher, I might tell them to fuck off, but he’s …” 

Daniel’s didn’t finish his thought, but Noah Boucher’s name carried a great deal of weight. He was a top goaltender in the NHL. Well-respected and well-liked by players and coaches both. He was also the first out man in the league. He’d changed the game of hockey forever. 

Boucher wouldn’t do this lightly. 

Lance rubbed his forehead. “What happened again?” 

“Gabriel Theriault got into a nasty on-ice fight with Luke Crawford during the conference finals. They took it off-ice after the game. Crawford is raging about what a loose cannon Theriault is, but the league talked him out of pressing charges, so it won’t be a police matter. They will handle it internally. Both players have been fined and suspended but because of prior issues and the fact Theriault was the instigator in the initial fight, they’re coming down hard on him. He’ll be suspended through the end of the season and Toronto is done with him. They want him gone next season.” 

“And they want us to pick him up?”

“Boucher does, anyway.” 

“I mean, I don’t know Theriault’s reputation that well,” Lance said thoughtfully. “I know at one point he was burning up the league in assists and he’s fast as hell but …” 

“Was being the operative word,” Daniel countered. 

“Not anymore?” 

He shrugged. “He’s … erratic. Some games he’s the best D-man on the ice, some games he’s a wreck. No one knows what’s going on with him. Toronto’s tested him for drug use but so far everything’s consistently come up clean.” 

“You’re considering him though?” 

Daniels sighed. “With Underhill’s ankle issue, we’re down a solid D-man.” 

“Yeah, but is Theriault a solid D-man?” 

“Only time will tell. Boucher assures me Theriault’s problem is a private, family issue that he’d prefer to keep under wraps but that could be improved by getting away from Toronto.” 

“Hmm.” Lance was still skeptical. “It’s a gamble.” 

“It is. But we either gamble on a man who has a history as a high performer in the league or a guy from the AHL who might not hack it at this level.”

“True.” Lance brought up the database, scanning through Theriault’s stats. “Well, he’s not getting much ice time but if you compare that TOI in relation to his Corsi rating, it’s better than I’d have expected.” 

“His blocked shots are pretty good relative to the league average as well,” Daniels said with a shrug. “On paper, he’s not a bad choice.” 

Lance nodded. He wasn’t a huge proponent of using advanced stats solely to evaluate a guy. To Lance, personality and the way a player meshed with a team often told him more, but those stats did help shape the overall picture. 

“Franklin is on board with this?” 

“His only comment was that he wanted guys who could win us games and Hines has given his approval.” 

Lance resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He wasn’t fond of the franchise owner, though he’d never say it aloud. Along with their GM, Cliff Hines, they let one of their current defensive players, Jack Malone, get away with murder, all in the name of winning. 

Lance frowned at Ken. “That’s a lot of hot tempers on our defensive line,” he said doubtfully. “I mean, Underhill will be away from the team for a while, which will be good. But Malone’s a dick and we both know it.” 

Daniels nodded, not denying it.

“O’Shea could be a good kid, but Malone and Underhill were a terrible influence on him last season. I just don’t want to set us up to spend half of each game with our defense cooling their heels in the penalty box.” Lance grimaced. “Not that I have much say in that. Sam is the defensive coach so ultimately, it’s up to the two of you.” 

Daniels leaned back in his chair. “Yeah, but Sam’s leaving at the end of the season and while I’m pleased Horton will be taking his place, he doesn’t know our team yet so I’m hesitant to weigh either of their opinions heavily.” 

“Yeah. Fair enough,” Lance agreed. 

“You may not be in charge of our defensive lineup but there’s no one’s opinion I respect more.” 

“That means a lot to me. Should we talk to Murphy too? See what our Captain says?” 

That could change too but Zane Murphy had been captain for years and the guys liked and respected him. He couldn’t imagine they’d vote in someone different next season. 

Daniels shrugged. “He’s the one who cooked this up with Boucher. He’s on board if we are.” 

“Ahh, hell.” Lance snuck a peek at the official player photo of Gabriel Theriault, struck by the sadness in his dark eyes. 

Hmm. If a trade to the Otters could help the guy get on his feet again and he had the skills to help the team, why not give him a shot? They’d see how he did at training camp and go from there.

“Okay, let’s go for it,” Lance said with a sigh, wondering if he’d regret this. “Every guy deserves a second chance, right?” 

Rumors Swirl Around Theriault’s Departure from Toronto Fisher Cats 
Defenseman Gabriel Theriault was conspicuously absent from the post-playoff celebrations after the Toronto Fisher Cats’ highly anticipated Cup win. The city was out in force to celebrate but one member of the Fisher Cats was nowhere to be found. 

Theriault’s off-ice brawl with Boston’s Luke Crawford led to his arrest by the local police department. Although no charges were filed, he was suspended for the remainder of the season and missed the finals in the Stanley Cup playoffs. 

Amidst the announcement about his recent acquisition by the Evanston River Otters, speculation has varied from a possible stay in a private rehab facility for drug abuse treatment to a rift between him and the newly retired Fishers’ goaltender, Noah ‘La Bouche’ Boucher. 

If rumors are to be believed, long-time teammates Theriault and Boucher shared more than an apartment. 

With La Bouche’s move to Michigan to live with new boyfriend, gallery owner Simon Lawrence, our money is on a nasty breakup.



Sunday Sport Stats
Rules of the Game
Engagement

Relationship Goals


Author Bio:
Brigham Vaughn is on the adventure of a lifetime as a full-time writer. She devours books at an alarming rate and hasn’t let her short arms and long torso stop her from doing yoga.  She makes a killer key lime pie, hates green peppers, and loves wine tasting tours. A collector of vintage Nancy Drew books and green glassware, she enjoys poking around in antique shops and refinishing thrift store furniture. An avid photographer, she dreams of traveling the world and she can’t wait to discover everything else life has to offer her.

Her books range from short stories to novellas. They explore gay, lesbian, and polyamorous romance in contemporary settings.

To stay up to date on her latest releases, sign up for the Coles & Vaughn Newsletter.


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Changing the Rules #3

Series